


And what do you call this?

by rynoa29



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, Reincarnation, in which Shiro haunts Mephisto's ass through the ages and teaches him a thing or two along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24400612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynoa29/pseuds/rynoa29
Summary: Samael has little interest in humanity's emotional leanings, far more fascinated by the physical sensations of his new body, but one particular soul meets him again and again, forcing him to take a second look and teaching him a few lessons along the way.
Relationships: Fujimoto Shirou/Mephisto Pheles
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	And what do you call this?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jeiidaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeiidaan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Finding You Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24276349) by [Jeiidaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jeiidaan/pseuds/Jeiidaan). 



> 100% self-indulgent reincarnation fic, detailing the epic love story of Mephisto and Shiro through the ages. 
> 
> Thus, this is not exactly in line with canon, esp. in regards to Shiro’s death, and probably more that a little OOC and incoherent but... here we are anyway lmao. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also please absolutely check out the companion fic linked ❤️ Finding You Again by Jeiidaan is a direct sequel to this~!

Love.

What a silly little word. Humans placed such a grand importance on it, as if there was no greater concept in the world. Why?

The first time Samael entered a body, he drowned in the pleasure of it. The quenching taste of cool water pouring down a throat that could grow parched; the delicate fragrance of freshly cut flowers, of scented oils that could bring forth the memory of his teeth sinking into sharp, citrusy juices that dripped from his mouth and sank into his tongue—

The vibrant colors of Assiah were indescribable to a being born in Gehenna. 

The _drip, drop_ patter of rain hitting the pavement echoed in his ears, bringing forth a toothy smile to Samael’s face. He’d understood sound before, but he’d never known it like this. As he lay back on pillowy soft, silky bed sheets, listening to the harmonious melody of strings that thrummed right into his ear, of drums that sank into his chest, he found himself enchanted.

 _Ah_ , he’d thought then. How could anyone spare a thought to something as unimpressively fickle as emotions, especially one such as love, when there were so many endless sensations to focus on instead? It did feel silly, he thought, watching with an impassive sort of curiosity, to see humans get all aflutter over things such as _familial connections_ or _romantic relationships,_ as if the reactions of others held more importance than their own _._

If Samael were to do a study of humanity, the topic of love would likely be at the bottom of his list. After all, the most fascinating pursuit of knowledge that the beings of Assiah and Gehenna could hope to uncover lay within the duality of their existences.

Are humans and demons really so different? The core of their deepest desires were the same, weren’t they? Each craved most what the other did not have:

Humans, born into Assiah in vessels that cradled their souls as if they were one and the same, could not possibly understand how special it was to have a body that was theirs and only theirs. Instead, their soul ached to be unleashed from their physical restraints—the desire to become a being higher than what they were often translated into a pursuit for power they could only clumsily wield, for knowledge they had no need to understand.

Demons, on the other hand, distracted as they were by the physicality they tried so hard to grasp onto, could not possibly comprehend a human’s fascination with their powers, with the notion of their being. What was there to question? The definition of the ego was as basic as it could be:

It was to know yourself so intimately well, every aspect of every thought of every concept.

Samael, a being made up of just ego for what seemed like an eternity, thought that he’d mastered understanding in a level that humans would find unreachable, unfathomable, but all along he’d been the one missing this vital piece in his life that he could no longer live without.

Thus, Samael could not find himself bothered by such a petty thing like emotions. He craved nothing else but the pleasure of the senses. He drank them hungrily, endlessly, valuing even the limits that came from overindulgence, of his stomach threatening to burst at the seams after a particularly large feast, of his breath shaking and trembling with a painful sort of delight as hands that were as soft as they were rough traveled every inch of his body at his whim and command.

It took centuries for him to emerge from this fugue-like state. Every sensation was just as delectable as the last, but just as frustratingly fleeting. 

Even more frustrating was the exceedingly cruel truth that he eventually had to learn:

Flesh doesn’t last forever. His dominion over time was his only advantage that kept him from falling into the sort of envy that would turn to rage. It was the complexity of his ego that made him cling to his apathy, to his pride. Why should he debase himself and become a mindless beast when he was so much more than that? Samael was a patient being. He was a powerful being. And he was adamantly determined to follow his greedy, hungry heart until the end of time—he used every trick up his sleeve to delay the inevitable so he could continue to appease his basest of desires.

And so Samael clung tightly to this new life, never wanting to know want again, to have anything less than that he had.

He did not expect that there could possibly still be something missing from his existence until he met _him_.

* * *

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

Here was a human—at first glance, as simple and as common as all the rest. Samael’s eyes slowly tracked the lines of that lithe body, the softness of a stomach that knew food, the sharpness of hip bones that said it didn’t know it enough.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the human answered, carrying away in one hand a sack of precious jewels that Samael appreciated more for their aesthetic than their value; in the other, one of the finest apples from the palace’s orchard was half bitten.

The human’s lips glistened with its juices as he smirked at Samael. There was a high level of intelligence behind those eyes and a matching recklessness that ran just as deeply. There was no fear in this man even though he stood before a being very capable of ending his existence at a mere whim.

Samael was surprised enough and amused enough by it to let the silly man go on his way without sparing him further thought.

What a ridiculous human.

* * *

“Are you stupid?”

Samael stared, baffled, when the human made his way back into his chambers only months later.

“Are you?” the human asked, with just as much audacity as before. He was perusing Samael’s personal possessions as if he was a scholar and slipping them into his pocket with as little care as one could have despite the piercing stare following his very movements.

What gall he possessed... He could not think of this man as stupid when it was no easy feat to delve this deeply into Samael’s place. No, only someone with an immeasurable amount of skill and self-confidence could dare to steal from a Demon King, not just once, but twice.

This time, Samael’s eyes lingered as he watched the human depart with a jaunty whistle and a cocky wave, slipping over the edge of his window, sliding down the towering height that separated his chambers from the rest of the world.

What a fascinating human.

* * *

“I’m beginning to think you’re not here to simply rob me.”

Samael had seen the best of humans and the worst of humans in all the time he’d roamed Assiah, but it was neither the pious nor the wicked that held his attention. No—it was the humans that tittered the line of both that were far more interesting.

Aslan—as he’d learned his name to be—held Samael’s attention quite well.

“Finally caught on, did you?”

The human’s motivations were a mystery to him. The man came and went at his own whim, with no discernible schedule or target in mind. Samael had sent lesser demons and servants alike to track down information on the man, but there was little to be found save for whispers of a man that was at times kind and at times vicious to both foes and allies alike. 

“You make things too easy for me,” Aslan said as he helped himself to a grapevine, sinking his teeth into the delicate sweet flesh. He’d settled in quite comfortably on top of the cushions nearest to the fire. 

A slight chill was beginning to trickle in from the outside. Samael knew they would have a long, cold winter this year in the same way he knew everything else. The concept of yesterday, and today, and tomorrow were intimately known to him. 

Aslan, on the other hand, remained an enigma.

“Does that worry you?” Samael mused, prodding the man’s thoughts with boundless curiosity. 

“Not at all,” Aslan replied. He sucked in another grape with a hum and didn’t elaborate. He was frustratingly vague like that. For some reason, Samael couldn’t find it in himself to dislike it.

“Maybe I should be the one worried.” The Demon King knelt down beside Aslan. He grabbed his wrist and held his gaze as the pointed edges of his teeth tore the richest grape away from its vine. The dazzling sensation of that sweet nectar sinking into his taste buds had him humming with satisfaction.

“Can you? Be worried?” Aslan tilted his head, examining him. Samael could see the shadows that lurked in his eyes, dark enough to draw him in. That easy-going smile of his was just as enchanting. 

“I wonder...” Samael smirked. “Will it surprise you if I say that a being as old as myself still has much of the world to learn?”

“Don’t try to fool me,” Aslan chuckled. “I think you of all beings know yourself more than you know anything else.”

How astute. It did not surprise him that this human understood at least that much.

“Ah, but I want to know more than just myself. Tell me, for example, what keeps bringing you back here? You’ve stolen precious gems and food alike from me, enough that you ought to have satisfied any need for more. And yet...”

The direct approach surprised Samael as much as it did Aslan. Yet the man did not skip a beat in answering him.

“You really are stupid,” the human said with a wicked grin. Calloused fingers grasped the side of Samael’s face and drew him in. 

“Haven’t you considered that I’m here to steal your heart instead?” 

It was a laughable answer, a flattering answer, and Samael matched that avaricious grin, diving into Aslan with the same single-mindedness to sate his desires that he always had.

What a delightful human.

* * *

Samael knew with a powerful certainty that this man, with eyes that wanted and desired more than just material things, more than the secrets of the world, more than the carnal pleasures of the flesh, was as human as human could be. Yet, there was an ego inside of Aslan that he would call as formidable as his own if that wasn’t such a ludicrous idea.

Still, he struggled to define this man and understand why he was drawn to him. Samael had known companionship in his time in Assiah, but it had never been like this—a being that was one day insatiable, another day wholly disinterested. Samael felt drunk on the taste of him lingering on his tongue and he clung to that sensation when he awoke in his bed alone. 

Never before had he felt such yearning. He sought the human out when his pride allowed him to, and that brought an indulgent smile to Aslan’s lips that only made Samael crave him more. He played the same game in return during some of the man’s visits, enjoying the way frustration darkened that hungry gaze until neither of them could take it. 

Sometimes, the days stretched and stretched, far longer than he wanted them to, before they saw each other again, but Samael was a patient being. And there was something to this dance that he’d learned to enjoy too—there was a time where Samael’s greed would have driven him to chase after his immediate self-gratification, but now, he found himself captivated not just by these simple desires but also by what it _meant_ to desire. When he closed his eyes, he could remember clearly the way their mouths pressed hotly together, the way Aslan’s breath laughed in his ear as their bodies quivered in tandem, and sometimes the memories were more than enough. He found himself appreciative of the act of wanting in a way he’d never had before. 

It was a timely lesson for Samael to learn, because human life was as fleeting as its pleasures and he was reminded of this all too well much sooner than he’d have liked to.

* * *

The days passed by rapidly after Aslan’s death. Sometimes it was easier to forget him than others, but when it rained, Samael was filled with the vivid memories of the two of them lounging under the cover of the balcony awning of his palace. Warm blankets covering them up to their shoulders, the moon just barely providing a moment’s light before the hesitant pitter patter of the rain resumed, softly at first, then hard enough to bounce up to wet the tips of their toes.

Samael knew that time would make the memories fade one day and the thought brought back a yearning that made him smile, and just the same, it caused an ache inside of him that he could not comprehend.

Before he could dwell on it deeply, however, a far more astounding development took place.

* * *

“You?!”

“Me?” The man that stood before Samael shot him an unimpressed look that was so painfully familiar, but there was no recognition in those eyes, not even a hint of it. 

There was no reason for him to think it. There was no precedent for him to contemplate it. But Samael knew it, more than he’d ever known himself, that the human in front of him housed the soul of Aslan. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? How could a human soul shed their given skin and wear another’s, as if the connection between their unique essence and their vessels were not one and the same? 

But they were the same, weren’t they? This body fit around that fascinating soul with as much comfort and confidence as it had the last. Samael was confused, he was curious, and beyond that, he was elated. The game between them hadn’t ended yet. No, it had taken a new turn and he was delighted that it had. 

Knowing Lionel was different from knowing Aslan, but the experience was just as enrapturing. The man was a touch more callous; he was cautious of Samael’s attention, unwilling to fall to his charms too easily. Those intelligent eyes looked at the Demon King and said _‘ah, is this what you want?’_ and rather than caving in after getting a taste of all Samael could offer, he said, _‘no, this isn’t enough’_ with the same avarcise he’d always shown. 

Their time together was much longer than the last. With Lionel, Samael found himself wrapped in clothes he’d never thought he’d wear and pulled into places that he’d seen before but only because his powers allowed him to view the hidden corners of the world with an ease that other beings rarely possessed.

When he mentioned this to Lionel and offered to grant this to him too, however, the man’s nose had wrinkled.

“No, you don’t get it,” he said, and rather than explain what he meant, he tugged Samael’s hand and led him away from his palace. “Come with me,” he said.

They traveled without any use of Samael’s powers because Lionel wanted nothing more than to reach the highest heights of the mountains, the deepest depths of the ocean, but only by his own will, with his own skill. Samael’s body was not one to feel strain easily, but in time, he found himself understanding a little deeper that discomfort wasn’t something to shy away from. Their journey together taught him that there were pleasures to grasp beyond basking on the way the sun sparkled breathtakingly against the ocean—as they lay together in an uncomfortable bed that was too small and too hard, Samael smiled, still savoring the warm meal he’d been offered by the old woman housing them overnight. The taste of it had been unlike any other Samael had ever experienced, unique and individual. Years later, when he visited this house again, her descendants' efforts only barely held a candle to those flavors.

When it was time to part ways again, Samael felt reluctance. Aslan had slipped through his fingers unseen, a death as quiet as it had been grand. He’d met his mortal end doing what he did best, in between those moments where they’d been apart, and Samael had known disappointment when he’d eventually learned that they’d never meet again. 

“What are you doing?” Lionel asked, sickly, in bed, as all the clocks in Samael’s palace stopped ticking. 

“Your body’s rushing through this too fast. But with a little more time, I’m sure I’ll have you back in better health.”

“Huh, can you really do something like that?” 

Samael looked up from the book he was studying, feeling Lionel’s curious gaze.

“I can do this and much more, as I’ve told you many times. But the human body is something us demons don’t quite yet understand. They’re surprisingly complex given how fragile they are.”

“Hmm…”

Lionel stayed quiet on the subject for all of three days, but when Samael made no progress on the matter, he said:

“Let’s just keep going.”

Samael understood the words immediately, and yet, the request was so nonsensical that he had to question it. 

“Excuse me?”

“There’s no point delaying the inevitable. Let’s just keep on going until I can’t anymore.”

Samael had wondered, ever since he met Aslan through Lionel, how it was possible for them to have met again. When he’d asked Azazel, his brother had no answer to enlighten him with, so he’d sought further counsel, quietly, privately, among those he trusted to investigate this phenomenon, all to no avail. But whether it was just luck, fate, or some other mysterious force that Samael did not yet know, one fact stood out: he wasn’t sure whether it would happen again.

“Why would I want to do that?” Samael scoffed, as always a selfish being. 

Lionel sighed. “You still don’t get it, do you?” Propped up against the finest pillows the demon owned, the man stared out the window with a smile that, even years later, Samael still worked to decipher.

“I love watching the sun rise, and feeling the rain beat down on my skin. I love the people that we meet, and the food that we eat, and the sights that we see. There’s no point in me living if I can no longer have those experiences.”

This was the most Lionel had ever spoken about this subject. The passion in his voice was strong, even though his body was weak. 

For Samael, a concept such as love was one he hadn’t bothered to learn, but he did understand _want._ It was unfortunate, for Lionel, that Samael’s greed was greater than his own.

“What a stupid thing to say. If I let you go now, you won’t last long at all,” he reminded the human. Patience was all Lionel needed. He ought to have a little more faith.

“I don’t want to stay here, Samael. Let me live for as long as I can. I’d rather die today if you’re going to keep me trapped.”

Samael felt frustration in a way he’d never thought possible. And below that, there was something else, something that made him twitch and squirm with discomfort. He did not listen to Lionel’s request, steadfast in his belief that he would find a more suitable solution to this problem, but the moment Samael let down his guard, Lionel took off without a word nor a look back.

He died alone, seashells clutched between his fingers, his toes digging into wet sand, a smile stretched on his face as he rested under the moonlight.

* * *

The years after Lionel faded with a bitter taste that Samael drowned in the best way he knew how to. But when his body had finally had its fill of indulging his senses, he still felt a yearning inside of him that he wasn’t sure how to sate. 

He took to wandering again, this time by himself. It wasn’t quite the same experience, but as he retraced familiar paths and learned of new ones, Samael found his interest in humanity growing in leaps and bounds. 

When he’d been just a concept, and even later, when his ego first gained flesh, he’d looked down at humans with disinterest—what was the point of sparing a thought to lesser beings and their intricacies? His time was better spent in rediscovering himself in ways he’d never imagined. 

Now, the way humans lived and learned and laughed had Samael traveling from one side of the world to the next. It was them that he sought to understand.

This wasn’t always the case, of course. 

Samael, through his own pains, but even more so, through the pains echoed by his siblings, was reminded again and again that the time they spent in Assiah was limited as well. Their bodies were not their own. Their time here would not last forever. It really was unfair, wasn’t it, that all these sensations and desires and experiences were so fleeting.

"This world is a world of suffering," Lucifer said to them, his tone flat, even as his body shook in visible agony. 

_You're wrong_ , Samael thought. _There is much more to it than that._

To explain such a thing, however, would be a wasted effort. Samael knew Lucifer as intimately as Samael knew himself—his big brother, whose patience could never match his own, whose body deteriorated much too quickly, would never be able to understand the lessons Samael had learned. 

So Samael wandered instead. Time ticked on as he grasped onto every experience he could gain, even indulging in his darker senses at times, bringing destruction and fire, flooding and disease in his wake. After all, this too was something that allowed him to keep learning—the way humans fought, the way humans cried, the way humans screamed and raged and struggled as they sought to survive. 

Eventually, it was his endless wandering that reunited him once more with the man he’d once known and would know again through many names and many years to come. 

This encounter was just as strange, just as mysterious and enrapturing as the last. Samael wondered how it was possible for this soul to continue to meet him in this manner. That man seemed to exist in a loop of eternity. Their reunions were often strikingly alike yet never the same. Samael did not always seek him out, certain memories still a little too sour and heavy on his mind. But often, he could not resist, not when there was still so much to experience between them.

On certain occasions, Samael wondered again if that man was really just a man rather than a demon. When he looked deep into those familiar eyes, Samael thought he saw _something_ in there, but the knowledge of their past lives was never there. He aged like a human and died like a human, and yet—

Through every incarnation, he always, always looked at Samael with an expression the demon had thought he understood, a mutual bone-deep desire that they’d shared with each other time and time again, but it wasn’t until many more years down the line that Samael began to notice there was something more hidden behind those sharp eyes.

 _Why do you look at me like that?_ Samael wondered, trying to puzzle it out, but he couldn’t find it in him to say the words.

Their time together was fleeting, it was not always happy, yet the two of them were drawn to each other more often than not. There was never a time where, after their first meeting, either could fully walk away from the other.

 _Ah,_ Samael eventually realized after recognizing a frustration in that man’s expression that he was familiar with feeling himself. _He’s expecting something. But what?_

Samael remained silent again. It was easier to be direct when they’d first met. The fact that he had questions he held no answers to after all this time challenged the core of his being. Here was something he ought to have grasped but hadn’t yet, not in all these years. It baffled him that this human, who never remembered the moments they shared, would know something that he, who remembered them all, did not.

Desire filled Samael again. He craved the knowledge more than he craved anything else. How long would it take for him to grasp the answer?

It didn’t matter. Time was fleeting for most beings, but that man was an outlier, and that fact alone was all the King of Time needed to feel at ease.

 _I’ll wait_ , he thought. _Again, and again, I’ll be here, and I’ll find you, and you’ll find me, and one day, I’ll understand this too._

* * *

Samael still had not found the answer when Lucifer decided he could no longer bear the pain of existence.

 _How sad,_ Samel thought, truly pitying his big brother’s plight, but not enough to agree to his insane plan. To destroy Assiah meant to say goodbye to everything he had gained and everything he had learned, and more importantly, to everything he had yet to learn. 

Centuries had passed much too quickly already, and Samael knew that his own body would give out someday too, but he wasn’t ready to give up yet. With every incarnation of that man, Samael felt closer and closer to the answer, but whenever he thought he’d almost grasped it, that man would slip away from his fingers, his mortal existence forcing them to part again, taking with him the enlightenment Samel sought. 

They needed more time. 

However, Samael had not forgotten Lionel’s words, _‘_ _I’d rather die today if you’re going to keep me trapped.’_

Here was the next challenge that Samael was faced with. Somehow, he had to cajole that stubborn, fascinating soul into agreeing to live for longer than his mortal vessel allowed him to. At the same time, Samael would need to find a way to appease Lucifer and prevent him from unleashing his unrestrained wrath on the world.

Samael’s desire for time to keep on ticking gave birth to Asylum. And Asylum gave birth to Shiro.

Their serendipitous meeting was almost too perfect. It was as if the universe itself was telling Samael, _‘yes, you’re on the right track, keep going’._

It was unfortunate that Shiro had to endure horrors as Section 13 primed his body to last longer than it was meant to, but the deeper the research was delved into, the more Samael was assured that this was the right step forward. 

Of course, it did make their initial interactions difficult. For a long time, Shiro looked at Samael with a scorn not unlike the way Lucifer regarded the world. 

"I hear you often slip past the guards to escape Section 13. You're the first subject to do that," Samael said, holding back a fond smile as he studied the youth with the same newfound curiosity he always held for him. 

Who was Shiro now? What would he show him this time? How long will it take before that peculiarly expectant look returned to those familiar eyes?

Samael wanted to know.

“Well, yeah,” Shiro said, his lips a flat line, his gaze cold and steady. He stood before Samael as unflinching as always. “This world’s a goddamned trash heap, but anything’s better than Section 13.” Shiro had barely seen an inch of the world’s worth to thrust forward that bold claim, and yet he’d looked at Samael then, Lionel’s gaze piercing through. “When I save up enough money, I’m gonna escape from here, and go far away, and be free. I’d rather die than spend the rest of my days locked up here,” he told him.

“I see…” Samael had murmured. _Yeah, that sounds like you,_ he thought. 

In all honesty, Samael had felt tempted to take Shiro away from all this and go with him. They could travel to the corners of the world and discover them together again. He could watch the darkness in Shiro’s eyes light up as he experienced the simple things, the grand things. 

But Samael couldn’t afford to be selfish just yet. He had to preserve Assiah so the two of them could continue to roam through it freely together. 

So instead, he gave Shiro the semblance of freedom, granting him favors that allowed him to stretch his wings, but only for as long as he deemed. 

In return, Shiro was ungrateful. He was vicious. He was angry. He avoided Samael as much as he could, and this caused an ache in the demon that was, frankly, distracting.

The Demon King spent far more time than he ought to have trying to get into Shiro’s good graces. It wasn’t easy, but those biting remarks eventually became a little less callous. The ice in those eyes melted, slowly, though there was a barrier he always held up that Samael couldn’t quite pierce through. 

One day, as Shiro leafed through one of the books Samael kept in his office, his boots propped up against the arm of his sofa, he said, “Wait, wait. Hold on, this bullshit’s not actually real, is it?” 

The book he held up was one Samael had commissioned to be written a long, long time ago. It detailed some of Aslan’s most famous conquests and adventures. Of course, Samael hadn’t resisted adding himself into the mix, even though he’d never accompanied Aslan to any of the jobs he’d taken back then.

“What part of it is too unbelievable for you?” Samael asked, holding back a smile, piqued by Shiro’s interest.

“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you did anything other than just sit on your ass like usual? Also, what kind of dumbass would willingly spend more time with you than what they had to?” 

This time Samael did laugh, the noise erupting from deep in his stomach. The sneer on Shiro’s face was just as catalytic as his words.

 _That’s you,_ he thought, thinking of how Aslan had melted into Lionel who had melted into similar faces and similar names, in the same way they had all melted into Shiro. Shiro, who despite not trusting Samael, had become used to snatching food from the demon’s plate and often made himself comfortable in the cushions surrounding the big screen TV in his mansion.

He found himself observing Shiro with that same fondness not much later, deeply entranced by the sight of the exorcist as he threw a drunken punch into the face of a man who’d foolishly mocked him. He pummeled another one for hitting Samael, even though the bystander had done it mostly by accident. 

“You should have dodged that,” Shiro said, glaring at him petulantly as the two of them trudged away from the bar they’d been kicked out of.

“I was a little distracted,” Samael confessed, still thinking of the way Shiro’s eyes had burned only moments ago, the fire in him much more destructive than what he was used to seeing in his long-time companion. He didn’t dislike it. 

Shiro stared at him with suspicion, but there was an intelligence in that gaze that read through Samael far too well.

“You really do like me, huh?” Shiro stated bluntly, echoing the words his younger self had used before he had demanded Samael to grant him his first freedom. This time, Shiro didn’t ask the demon to grant him anything—he simply grabbed Samael’s face, as cocky and as avaricious as ever, and pressed their lips together.

Samael’s time with Shiro was unlike any other. The man was all too happy to take everything Samael wanted to give him and demanded more before it was even offered; but he was prickly and flighty too. Whenever he stormed out of the Demon King’s sight, it was often with bared teeth and no promises to ever come back.

It made Samael want to hold on to him tighter.

He placed tasks upon tasks on Shiro, keeping him busy and grounded with a multitude of responsibilities that he couldn’t refuse. Memories of Aslan’s long absences lingered on Samael’s mind, and they made him smile, enough to loosen his grip just a bit. As he charmed Shiro’s capricious moods with a quiet patience, he was reminded of the delight that came from yearning alone. 

The peace that came from playing their usual games, however, was broken by a development that no one could have ever foreseen. Gehenna itself gained consciousness, and that ego took the name of Satan as it emerged in Assiah. It truly was a terrifying thing. 

And yet, there was a bold young woman who came forward and tried to tame Satan with an earnest desire that had Samael observing her closely. 

“God, she pisses me off.”

Shiro was watching her just as closely, trying to puzzle her out just as much as Samael was. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve last heard you complain about her. Aren’t you friends now?”

“Shut up.” Shiro glared up at the ceiling, shifting so his head could rest a little more comfortably on Samael’s lap. “She just makes no goddamn sense. That crazy bastard is gonna kill her and everyone else who comes near him. I should have stopped her.”

"What do you think is driving her?" Samael asked. The Demon King knew all too well that when it came to humanity, they were beings fundamentally driven by only three desires—a desire for material things, for physical gratification, and for gaining understanding for all things beyond their reach. He wondered which one of these categories Yuri Egin fell under. 

Shiro was, of course, unhelpful in elucidating Samael on the matter.

"Like I fucking know," he muttered. 

* * *

Time changed people. Nothing ever stayed the same forever. Samael knew this more than he knew anything else, and it was because he did that he spent as much time as he could afford to at that man’s side.

Samael watched as Shiro grew and aged from someone who could barely stand to be near people and hardly knew how to smile, into someone who welcomed all those who flocked around him and laughed easily. He’d changed from someone who had once threatened to tear Samael’s throat apart, into someone who followed up on that promise with a lust-filled passion, and in time, those bites changed too, becoming much softer, his teeth playfully grazing Samael’s skin, gentleness in his touch. 

“I figured it out, you know.”

“Hm?”

“Why she went through all that trouble.”

It had been years since either of them had talked about Yuri, even though the presence of her children were a constant reminder of her. 

“Why did she?” Samael asked, intrigued by the sudden topic of conversation.

“And here I thought you were supposed to know everything.” 

Shiro’s lips twisted into a smirk. There was none of his usual cocksure attitude in that expression. The man was staring at Samael with those expectant eyes—a sight he was surprised to see after all this time. Samael found himself staring at them for a moment that seemed to last forever. When he blinked, it was the lines on Shiro’s face that attracted his attention and they caused an ache to emerge from deep in his bone marrow. 

“Not everything,” Samael admitted, at last too tired to hold on to his pride.

Shiro’s expression softened and he cradled the demon’s face, rough, calloused fingertips holding him tenderly.

“Sorry, think I’ll take this secret to the grave. But if you figure it out, let me know, yeah?”

 _Just tell me_ , Samael thought, frustration building up in his gut. He clutched onto Shiro in return, kissed him, and said nothing. A cascade of rain began pouring down on his balcony. For once, the sound brought him neither comfort nor joy.

* * *

It was at the moment of Shiro’s death that enlightenment came to Samael, though he did not know it then, not yet. He was far too focused on trying to figure out how to stop Shiro from dying again. He really had thought that in this lifetime they would have a lot more time than this.

“C’mon Shiro. It’s far too early for you to give up so easily. Are you really going to let yourself go like this?”

Shiro had a gaping hole in his chest and there was blood trickling down the edges of his lips. His face had already grown much too pale, but a small smile rose on his lips as he shook his head tiredly. “Hell, I’ve lived far longer than I thought I would’ve. This is fine. This is enough for me.”

“Well, it isn’t for me,” Samael snapped. The sharp tone surprised both of them. When Shiro stared at him, wide-eyed and questioning, Samael swallowed and looked away from that gaze. 

“I don’t want to watch you die anymore,” he confessed quietly.

“Stupid.” Shiro didn’t question the strange words. “What’re you going to do instead? Even I know you can’t just fix me up when I’m like this.” A bitter smirk emerged at the corner of his mouth. “You plan on keeping me here, frozen for all of eternity?” 

For a moment, Samael considered it. He knew that in this condition, Shiro would not be able to escape from his grasp, not if Samael didn’t want him to. 

But the thought of returning to this endless space to visit him, of Shiro remaining here, not being able to watch the grass grow, or hear the birds sing, or taste the rain as it soaked through their clothes, caused the entirety of Samael’s being to recoil. 

“No…” he said. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. The barrier that he’d kept up all these years did not so much as disappear as much as it shattered. 

“Mephisto...” Shiro’s eyes beckoned him to come closer. The Demon King’s breath faltered as Shiro’s hand reached out and pressed against the center of Samael’s chest. The smile he gifted him with was one he’d never seen before in any lifetime.

“Thank you.”

Shiro’s last words made Samael tremble. The moment time resumed and Shiro’s breath halted, the moment his eyes slid shut and his heartbeat stopped, the Demon King was filled with a feeling that expanded and contracted all at once. Samael had known want before, but he’d never known it like this. It burned in ways he’d never thought possible. 

_Why?_

An irrational fear began to build in the back of his mind. Something felt different about this goodbye, and it made him consider the fact that, maybe, this really would be the last time the two of them would meet like this. The thought ate him away incessantly. For a moment, he really did think the world was a cruel, unfair place.

But Samael was not just a patient being. In the years that he had roamed Assiah, he had learned many things. He’d experienced happiness and sadness. He knew anger and disappointment just as much as he understood kindness and forgiveness. These emotions and all the others, which he’d once thought insignificant, colored the world in ways the beings of Assiah and Gehenna could only hope to describe and—

The desire to keep on learning about every single one of them, to experience them, was one he never wanted to stop yearning. 

* * *

A mere nineteen years after Shiro’s death, Samael felt a familiar tug at the base of his ego, a pull that had his tail twitching to unfurl, excitement and desire and relief all at once hitting him. 

The fear that had stayed with him since the day of Shiro’s death abated. In its place, he was filled with a warmth he couldn’t name yet. It wasn't quite contentment, not was it happiness, nor was it satisfaction. 

No. This was the lesson that the King of Time took a millennia to learn:

There was a twenty-year-old Italian youth hosting a soul almost as old as his own and a wealth of ancient memories were burning bright behind those intelligent eyes. They stared at Samael with a yearning that only the two of them could know, and when their lips met—

 _Ah,_ Samael thought, finally understanding.

This was love.


End file.
